***
Olivia was in awe of the male standing before her. Perfectly and generously formed in every way, she felt dwarfed standing behind him. His hands remained slightly raised over his head, palms pressed against the tile as they bore a good portion of his weight. His fingertips dug into the grout between the white porcelain squares, crumbling the cement to dust at his feet, and she couldn’t help but stare in wonder at this powerful warrior.
This is mine, she thought to herself, no longer able to deny the vow of her heart and mind. It thrilled her—he thrilled her. His strong, agonized response to her touch excited and emboldened her. She’d just entered uncharted territory. Not that she’d been a prude, but after meeting Liam three years ago at the naïve age of eighteen, she’d honestly just never wanted to touch another man like this, or be touched by one—not even by Mitch, and that had been a constant stumbling block in their relationship. A very sore spot as time went on and their intimacy did not progress.
It wasn’t until she’d resigned herself to the fact that Liam wasn’t coming back and she couldn’t continue to live her life a miserable maiden that she’d agreed to marry Mitch. She’d known once they married, she could no longer deny him, but until then, she’d clung firmly to her adamant desire to wait until she was married.
Taking a step closer, Olivia pressed against his back, molding her curves into his muscled contours. When she kissed him beneath his shoulder blade, she could feel the rapid heaves of his short, panting breaths. She ached to touch the scarred V crossing his shoulder blades. The few times she’d tried to touched them before, he’d never let her, saying the scars were too sensitive. But given the purposeful nature of her touch, she impulsively dipped her fingertips into the scarred indentions.
Instantly, his already hard body turned to flesh-covered steel, her name left his lips in a hoarse bark of ecstasy. His head tipped back, his giant body shuddering in waves. It surprised and delighted her to discover her touch could evoke such a powerful response. As he caught his breath, she dipped beneath his outstretched arm and slithered around his side. Pinning herself between the tile wall and this wall of muscle, the sheer size of him amazed her. She’d never felt more fragile and yet so safe.
Demurely, she kept her eyes cast to his parted feet, her heart pounding inside her chest at the thought of raising them—not that she could resist, or even wanted to. She’d dreamt of what he’d look like, standing before her like this. But as she slowly raised her eyes, Olivia realized that no amount of dreaming could have prepared her for this stunning reality.
He was absolutely divine…
By the time her eyes slowly dragged up his body to meet his, Liam’s bold sapphire gaze was locked on her with such a possessive intensity that she instinctively took a step back, bumping into the wall behind her. Liam’s chest rose and fell with each panting breath.
“How you doin’?” she asked tentatively, watching as he grappled for control that seemed to be quickly slipping from his grasp. After a moment, he nodded once in confirmation, seemingly unable to speak.
“You keeping it held back?”
Briskly, he nodded again.
“You think you’ll hurt me?” He must, why else would he be clutching the tile while looking like he wanted to devour her?
He shook his head.
Olivia reached up and wound her arms around his neck. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed the hard clench of his jaw and pressed her chest against his. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart through her breasts and smiled. Arching a brow, she asked saucily, “Well then, what are you waiting for?”
With a tortured growl, he pushed away from the wall and caught Olivia up in his arms. His mouth descended on hers in a brutal kiss that claimed her very breath and stole all rational thoughts from her mind. His primal aggression surprised her as he stepped forward, backing her against the wall. This wasn’t the Liam she knew, the soft, tentative, gentle angel who’d always been so careful with his touch. No, this was the touch of a warrior—a lover too long denied his heart’s desire. And she loved it! Loved his strength, loved his passion, loved that for these few stolen hours, he could touch her without fear of hurting her.
With one arm tucked beneath her, he easily held her up. His other hand roved and explored all the places she’d only dreamed of him touching. When his fingers slipped down past her waist, she cried out in pleasure, breaking their kiss to drag ragged gasps of air into her lungs.
“I love you, Olivia,” he whispered, claiming the side of her neck in an open-mouth kiss that marked her throat as she’d threatened to do to him.
She wanted to respond, to tell him that she loved him, too, but the only sound she could get past her lips was a broken moan. His ceaseless ministrations swiftly carried her to a shattering release that had her crying out his name as her blunt nails scored his rock hard shoulders.
Already, she noticed the ever-so-slight heating of his touch, and a brief moment of desperation knotted in the pit of her stomach. Panicked, she kissed him with everything she had, not ready for this to end and fearing at the rate he was healing, it wouldn’t be long before his touch was forbidden once again.
Liam must have felt it, too, because his own kiss became frenzied and desperate. Without letting her go, the shower turned off, and forgoing the towel, he carried her into the bedroom. She didn’t know how much time they had, but knew, without a doubt, that Liam was going to make every second count.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A knot fisted in Balen’s gut as he looked down to meet those pleading hazel eyes. “I promise… I’ll be here when you wake up.” Bending down, he placed a lingering kiss on Ashley’s forehead. He longed to taste her full, sweet lips, but wouldn’t let himself think about heading down that road with her—not after witnessing the hell Liam had endured for the last three years. Just thinking about his friend’s suffering gave him the resolve to step away. “Good night, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered, turning to walk away before she could stop him.
“Good night, Balen.”
He closed the door softly behind him. Once it latched tight, he let out a deep sigh and sat in one of the flimsy plastic lawn chairs that probably cost a whole five bucks at Walmart. He shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable for the night, and wondered if the thing was going to hold him. Folding his hands behind his head, he slid down in the seat, lowering his center of gravity. With eyes closed, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.
A few hours passed with him sitting there, statue still, outside Ashley’s door when the one next to hers opened and closed quietly. Balen cracked open one eye and glanced up to see Mitch standing beside him. He closed his eye again and remained unmoved, pretending he didn’t know the guy was there. Perhaps the shithead would change his mind and go back inside. It was almost 2 a.m. What was he still doing up?
He could feel Mitch’s eyes on him, sizing him up. When it became glaringly obvious the guy wasn’t going anywhere, Balen sighed. “What’s on your mind, Mitch?” His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together, when another lawn chair scraped against concrete as it inched closer. All hope was lost when the chair creaked, protesting as he sat down beside him.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
If Mitch expected an answer, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. But Balen did open an eye and cocked his brow as if to say “Really?”
“I can see it when you look at her. After you came to my house, I thought maybe you were just an over-possessive guardian. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
“Why are you out here?” Balen asked dryly. He couldn’t lie, so there wasn’t any point in trying.
“Why aren’t you in there with her?” Mitch countered.
Balen sat up and turned, pinning him with a baleful glare. “This may be a foreign concept to you, Mitch, but I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women.”
“Ouch....” He dragged his fingers
through his hair and exhaled a deep sigh. “Hey, I apologized to her.”
“As you well should have,” Balen snapped. A few moments of silence passed, and he’d almost believed he was in the clear of having to spend any more time talking to Olivia’s fiancé, when the persistent bastard started flapping his gums again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” he answered with exaggerated patience.
“Why do they fall in love with you so easily?”
Balen knew Mitch meant ‘you’ as plural. What he really wanted to know was why Olivia had fallen in love with Liam. “You really want the answer to that question, Mitch? Because I can guarantee you aren’t going to want to hear what I have to say.”
“Tell me,” he persisted. “Please…”
“It’s because we love completely and unconditionally. Our only desire is for our ward’s safety and happiness. We were created warriors, so it’s ingrained in every fiber of our being to serve and protect—even unto death. You are incapable of such a love. Your selfishness and pride prevent you from loving a woman as God created them to be loved. You do not love Olivia as she deserves to be loved, as Liam loves her. And you are not worthy of her love in return.”
“Don’t you sit here and talk to me as if Liam is some saint!” Mitch hissed. “He took her from me! On our wedding day! Minutes before we were to declare that love you claim to be so nonexistent, before God and all our witnesses!”
“Listen to yourself!” Balen growled. “He took her from me…” Balen taunted. “I hate to break it to you, but she was never yours. Liam loved her enough to step aside and he let you have her, because he thought that’s what she wanted. I told him it was a mistake—”
“I love her!” Mitch yelled defiantly.
“You love yourself!” Balen sneered with disgust.
“So this is how it’s going to be?—you and me? You know, for an angel, you’re not a very nice one.”
“It’s not my job to be nice. And it’s not my job to be your friend. Hell, it isn’t even my job to keep you alive. Ashley is my only concern. You, Mitch, are a very distant afterthought.” Balen looked straight ahead again and stretched back out in the chair, cuing Mitch that this conversation was over. He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
The chair scraped against the concrete as Mitch got up and turned right instead of left. “What do you think you’re doing?” Balen demanded.
“I need to talk to Ashley,” Mitch grumbled sullenly.
“No, you most certainly do not. See, there you go again with the ‘I need.’ Believe it or not, Mitch, it’s not all about you. It’s late, Ashley’s asleep, and you’re not bothering her anymore tonight. Go to sleep, Mitch. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
Marching past Balen, he grumbled, “Self-righteous son of a—”
“What was that?” he interrupted. “Did you say something to me?”
“No,” Mitch bit out, slamming the door closed behind him.
Balen laced his fingers behind his head again, tipped back in his chair, and closed his eyes. “I didn’t think so...”
***
Haden entered the House of Night and numbly placed one heavy foot in front of the other, climbing the stairs to his room. He reached up to rub the side of his jaw. Damn, that warrior had a nasty right hook. His teeth didn’t line up straight anymore—no doubt his jaw was broken. He didn’t relish the idea of resetting it, but it had to be done, or the bones would quickly knit back together wrong.
Plodding down the hall, he popped his jaw and jerked it back into place. That shit hurt, but not nearly as much as the heart-shaped burn in the center of his palm. The flesh was open and raw, oozing sero-sanguineous fluid that dripped off his fingertips. It showed no sign of healing anytime soon. The fire still burned through the center of his hand as if the stone were still pressed against his palm. When he’d set this plan into action—watching, waiting, scheming to get close enough to Olivia to reach the stone, not once had it ever occurred to him that he may not be able to possess it. Of course, he should have known Liam would never bring something as powerful as Immanuel’s Stone to Earth without warding it to its owner first.
Little did that clever bastard realize, he’d just painted a big target on that female’s back, and Olivia’s stock had just risen—significantly. If it took his last dying breath, he’d stop at nothing to possess that stone. And if it meant possessing Olivia as well, then so be it. No female waif would stand in the way of his revenge. She would surrender the stone to him, or else…
Rage fueled the heat flooding his veins at the thought of how close he’d come to getting the stone. The memory of his hand fisted in Olivia’s silky black hair, his tight grip on her throat—squeezing just enough to spark that heightened sense of fear in her vibrant emerald green eyes… The bittersweet tang of almonds had teased his nostrils as her “fight or flight” instinct kicked in a few seconds too late, awakening something dark and forbidden deep inside him.
Entering his room, he crossed to the bed and plopped down at the foot. Bending forward to unlace his boots, he noticed his jeans were suddenly fitting uncomfortably tight. Kicking off his boots, he laid back on the bed, easing the pressure off an unexpected involuntary reaction—to thoughts of Olivia? No, he quickly dismissed the idea—purely coincidence. It must have been a knee-jerk response to the echoing sounds of lust filtering down the hall as he’d passed the rooms on the way to his own.
He contemplated calling the main desk to have a whore sent up to relieve this sudden ache, but thought better of it, considering he’d almost killed one last night. He didn’t need the added complication of a dead whore to deal with. Haden lay there trying to decide if he had the energy to shower and take care of this little problem himself, but ultimately, he was too exhausted to make the effort.
He’d tangled with the warrior twice today and his body was suffering the ill effects. His only consolation was in knowing he wasn’t the only one in pain right now. He’d nailed that angel good, and Liam hadn’t been in pristine condition to start with. Hopefully, that meant Rowen was dead.
He stretched his seventh sense, trying to pick up on any vibe from the demon—he wasn’t here. Although Haden had known the warrior could kill Rowen, it still filled him with an odd chill to realize how quickly and efficiently the job had been done. He’d have to make a “note to self” not to forget it, either, less history tried to repeat itself.
His heartbeat throbbed in the center of his palm. It was odd the burn wasn’t healing. Already, his jaw was starting to mend, now that it was in line again. Rest—maybe he just needed to rest. Once he was recharged, it would heal. Haden closed his eyes, willing his body to relax, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain as he drifted off to sleep.
“Nooo!” The protest that ripped from Haden’s throat was so agonized, the arrogant smirk on Gahn’s face momentarily faltered.
Haden spun around and ran for the doors. His heart drummed so loudly in his ears, he barely heard Gahn yell after him, “Don’t bother going back, Haden. There’s nothing left there for you now.”
The hounds of Hell snapped at his heels as he ran past them. The dim light from the candles ensconced on the wall flickered and extinguished as he tore down the hall, leaving him in total darkness. But he knew the way—all the twists and turns. How many times had he run these halls as a child, playing Hide and Seek with some demon he’d persuaded to indulge him? Many had, not because they liked him or enjoyed the game, but because they sought favor with Gahn, and anyone who could keep an active Nephilim child occupied and out of Gahn’s hair was surely to be favored.
If he’d heard it once, he’d heard it a thousand times… “Someday, you will be worth all this trouble you’ve caused me.” At the time, Haden hadn’t understood, but as he grew older and matured into an of-age Nephilim, he’d come to know what Gahn meant by those words. And an immortal lifetime of indentured service wasn’t worth twenty-five mortal years. As Had
en ran from the Dark Court to race back to Anya, he swore the next time he set foot in these halls would be to kill his “father.”
When Haden crossed over, his feet landed on the dry, hard-packed earth in a dead run. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, blistering hot and suffocating. As he approached the small village, cries of mourning rent the humid air, and he knew he was too late. Bursting through the front door, he was assaulted with the bitter tang of almonds, suffused with briny copper, and his stomach lurched, he knees buckled, and he stumbled to a halt.
Anya’s kin sat huddled together in the living quarters, tears streaming down their cheeks as they clung to each other sobbing.
“Where’s Anya?” he demanded.
One of them pointed toward the back, and he raced to her room. “Aww, God!” he cried out to the Creator he now knew, without a doubt, had forsaken him. Clutching the wall to remain on his feet, he frantically searched the ruined room for his female. The wall, the floor, her mattress—all painted red with her blood. The table beside her bed was tipped and broken. Shards of shattered clay pots lay scattered throughout the small room. Deep claw marks rent her pallet to shreds. Blood splattered it in reckless patterns, confirming she had not died without a fight. And then he saw her—lying on the floor, crumpled at an unnatural angle.
“Anya!” He ran over to her and fell to his knees. Grief consumed him, sucking the life and his will to draw another breath right out of his lungs.
Gently, as if she wasn’t already broken, Haden gathered Anya into his arms—the blood seeping through his shirt and pants was still warm. And for the first time in Haden’s too long existence, he sobbed. It was that moment, kneeling in the crimson pool of his beloved, Haden died. Although his heart still insisted on beating, despite the countless times he tried to will it to stop, everything he was, everything he could have become, anything good inside him, died the moment Anya ceased to exist. The thread that tied him to humanity was forever broken.
The Redemption Series Page 53